


Cas vs the Laundry

by Shrinkynatural



Series: Versus Series [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Macrophilia, Microphilia, Shrinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:39:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shrinkynatural/pseuds/Shrinkynatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows Cas vs the Bed. Taking time off after the hunt at Bobby's, Cas finds himself in another awful situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cas vs the Laundry

Castiel banged on the round glass door of the washing machine as hard as his tiny fists would let him. He was up to his knees in sweaty and bloody laundry (his own clothes were in there somewhere in a tied off nylon), having been shoved in with the socks and underwear and shirts in yet another incident caused by his lack of caution and the Winchesters' poor observational skills. Dean's jean-clad legs stepped in front of him, blocking most of the light as the man leaned against the washer to turn the dials. There was a loud clunking from Bobby's old pipes and then water started shooting inside with deafening loudness. 

His eyes widened as the clothing under his feet turned soggy and he started pounding on the door in earnest. "Dean! Dean, I'm in here! Make it stop!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, but it was useless. Dean stepped back and turned, whistling to himself as he strolled out of the room without a care or a clue that Castiel was in trouble. "Dean!" 

Castiel gave up on hitting the glass and started to push at it instead. While he was still as resilient as he'd always been, his strength was lacking and he was unable to make the door budge. Another clunk and a groan was all the warning he had before he was knocked off his feet when the inside of the washer started to _move_  . 

He stumbled over the clothes as he was tugged to the side, trying to stay where he could look out the door. All he needed was someone to walk by and glance over--that's all he needed. Any hope he had was dashed, however, the moment that gravity took over and the clothes that had been pulled above him peeled away from the side of the barrel and slammed down on top of him. 

Castiel was underwater and completely surrounded, pressed between layers of clothing and occasionally taking a hard button to the head or stomach. Occasionally he'd be lifted out, the soapy water pouring away for only a moment of air and relief before he was plunged back into the chaos. Eventually he just shut his eyes and tucked himself into a protective ball, forced to wait it out. 

It took a while for him to realize when everything stopped moving and the water began to drain away. With trembling arms Castiel pushed the roof of fabric clinging to him away and managed to turn himself onto his stomach. He weakly coughed soap out of his lungs and tried to spit out the foul taste, his tongue coated with film and heavy in his mouth. Water started to pool up again and he remembered what Dean had told him at the last laundromat they went to: rinse cycle. It had all seemed so fascinating when he explained it at the time; now it served as a checklist for the torture he had to endure to get to the end. With what little warning he had he clamped his mouth shut and held his hands over his mouth and nose before the machine sent him tumbling again. 

This cycle was just as vicious and he was ping-ponged around the load until he ended up inside a _sock_   of all things. Castiel tried to climb out, but the constant shifting and heavy material made it impossible to move. He had the passing thought of whether it was Sam's or Dean's sock and immediately amended it to hoping he never found out. The pressing weight of the sock was so intense that he almost didn't notice when the water drained away, signaling the end of the end of the rinse cycle. One more cycle, he encouragingly told himself as the metal drum started to move and his world shifted again. 

Spin cycle was the worst. Castiel could swear that the sock he was in ended up right against the side of the washer, the small drain holes digging into his back while the other side of the sock and layers upon layers of laundry pushed down on his small body. If the pressure wouldn't have killed him as a human the lack of oxygen would do him in. As it was, the fatigue from the beating he'd taken was taking its toll on his minuscule grace. He knew he wouldn't die, but it was taking too much effort to stay conscious. Reluctantly, he let the rhythmic thunking of the spinning drum relax him into letting the darkness drag him under. 

\-- 

"--mean it's broken!" 

"I mean it doesn't work, and I haven't exactly been able to get at it myself to find out what's wrong." 

Castiel focused on the familiar voices, using them to pull his mind out of the fog of semi-consciousness. He tried to move, but only managed a small flex of his muscles; the spin cycle had flattened the sock around him like an air tight seal. 

"Bobby...you could've called. You know me 'n Sam would've come by." 

"Don't give me that look. It broke on the last load I did a week ago. I'm not wallowing in my own _filth._  " 

"Hey, I wasn't--" 

"Of course you weren't. It's a sunny day and there's a bag of clothespins on the top shelf up there, you'll be fine." 

Clothespins? It took a moment, but Castiel searched his addled memory to remember what those were. They were used to hang wet laundry so they could dry outside. 

_Outside._   

Castiel renewed his struggling in earnest, pushing against the damp wall of sock in front of him. He wouldn't be moved to the dryer--a miracle he was grateful for--but being outside was just as bad. 

He could hear the door pulled open and loud peeling sounds as Dean started grabbing the wet clothes stuck to the sides of the washer drum. Dull thumps followed as Dean dropped them into a waiting basket. Castiel jerked one arm free and tried to reach above him to find the opening--if that was even 'up'--but then Dean grabbed the clothes on top of him and pulled them away. The sock almost went along but fell to the bottom of the washer at the last moment. It landed across one of the lifters, hitting Castiel right in the chest and stunning him long enough for Dean to snatch him up without noticing the mini angel-sized lump inside. With a sharp flick of Dean's wrist Castiel was flung into the basket and quickly covered with the last pieces of clothing. 

Dean slammed the door shut and then Castiel was being lifted up and up. The basket swayed as Dean walked, the laundry jostling about when he hopped down the steps of the back porch and crossed the expansive backyard to the clothesline. As carelessly as he'd been snatched out of the washer, Castiel and the basket were dropped to the ground. He felt like his stomach was left four feet in the air but it did succeed in knocking out the last stubborn gob of soap in his throat that hadn't come loose during the wash. He coughed a few more times to be sure that was it and heaved himself up onto his hands and knees. 

He had a 50-50 chance of picking the correct direction to get out of the sock. Hoping luck was on his side, Castiel started crawling the way he was already facing. The top of the sock obligingly lifted away as he went and relief swept through him at the sight of the pile of clothes just outside. He was almost to the edge when something swept inside the sock and hit him hard in the face, sending him reeling back. Before he could even look the sock was being lifted up and he tumbled into the bottom. The mouth of the sock was still open and Castiel shouted when he realized it was Dean's finger up there, pinching the material as he brought it up to the clothesline. 

"Dean!" he cried, flailing while trying to get his feet back under him. The finger was replaced by a wooden clothespin just as large and there he was, apparently stuck until who knows when Dean would come out to get the air-dried clothes. In the words of said oblivious hunter, "Oh like _hell._  " 

Castiel tucked his legs in and managed to squirm his way upright. The sock was long, he knew they reached all the way up Sam and Dean's calf when worn, but the material was thick and aged. He dug his hands in between the threads and started to pull himself up the side. His bare feet easily found the grooves his hands left behind and in no time he was hooking his arms over the mouth of the sock and looking out around him. 

The first thing he saw was the clothespin next to him holding up his sock's mate, and beyond that was Bobby's house off in the distance. Loud humming behind him made Castiel turn as carefully as possible. Dean was hanging up the rest of the clothes, head bobbing as he hummed an unfamiliar song. Occasionally a word would slip out but Castiel couldn't connect it to any song he knew. Dean was mostly facing away from him, and Castiel debated the merits of waiting for him to hopefully turn around versus making his own way across the clothesline. 

A t-shirt Dean hung chose that moment to slip free of one of its clothespins, its weight swinging to the side and sending the line bouncing. Castiel lost his hold and fell to the bottom of the sock again. He thought he was lucky to have not fallen out, but this time his foot found a hole right where someone's big toe would go. It wasn't large, he didn't slide right out, but the wind picked up and started whipping the laundry about on the clothesline. What was probably a gentle breeze to Dean was like a tornado to Castiel, knocking him against the insides of the sock and making it impossible to get his bearings. 

His twisting and flailing only succeeded in his other foot going through the hole and trying to take the rest of him with it. Castiel scrambled to grab at the worn threads like before, but he kept losing his grip at every sharp jerk of the sock in the wind. Just before he cleared the hole completely he managed to lock his hands around the edge and yelped as his whole body jerked to a stop. His feet kicked uselessly at the air, unable to propel himself up and back to safety. 

Castiel's arms still ached from the washer abuse and they screamed at him now. He was slipping already and Dean was still turned away, all his focus on hanging the last few pieces of clothing. An instant later he plummeted, the overgrown grass of Bobby's yard doing nothing to break his fall as he landed on his back on the hard ground. He shut his eyes against the pain and a quick check showed his grace still holding up. Exhausted muscles were infinitely better than broken bones. 

The earth beneath him trembled worryingly, but it was when the sun went out that Castiel opened his eyes. It was Dean, empty basket on his hip, walking towards him. His boot slammed down so close to where Castiel was lying that he managed to reach out and touch the hard rubber sole before it lifted up and sped away. He rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself to his feet, stumbling as he took off into a run after him. 

The vibrations from Dean's footsteps grew fainter and fainter as his long strides easily ate up the distance to the house, leaving Castiel stranded at the clothesline. Now even if anyone noticed he was missing they wouldn't think to look _outside._   He couldn't even guarantee that Dean would see him if he waited for him to retrieve the laundry. Castiel stopped and sat down on a small rock to rest a moment and gather his strength. He'd just have to make his own way to the house.


End file.
